Two Truths
by Maidenjedi
Summary: Mulder contemplates two truths.


TITLE: Two Truths  
AUTHOR: Maidenjedi  
RATING: PG  
KEYWORDS: M, V, A, Mulder/Diana, Mulder/Scully  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Wish they were.  
SPOILERS: I'm a 'The End' whore sometimes; also  
tiny ones for 'Lazarus'.  
SUMMARY: Mulder contemplates two truths.  
AUTHORS NOTES: at the end.  
  
  
***  
Inspired, in part, by Scully's little voiceover  
in 'Trust No 1' that has all the shippers going  
bonkers. I was only affected by that last bit,  
"the truest truths are what hold us together, or  
keep us painfully, desperately apart".  
***  
  
*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*  
  
  
My father never warned me about women. He shouted to  
the heavens about the dangers of driving fast, but he  
never said a word about what damage a woman can do to  
you. Women don't have to actually do a thing to achieve  
it; it can be as subtle as jealousy in their eyes or  
hurt in their voices, and it will stab and tear at you  
the same as a knife will. Dad never warned me.  
  
I often wonder if that's because he never really knew.  
Standing in this room, next to a beautiful woman who   
loves me, and waiting for the other to show up, I'm   
almost certain of this. Dad had Mom, and sometimes not  
even that much. I have two women, one like sunset, one  
like sunrise, both like flames on the horizon, blazing  
bright and brief and forever all at the same time.  
  
I feel them facing off, silently and diligently. As women  
do, they are manuevering into position to fight for me if  
they must. Each will try to prove she is more loyal to  
my cause than the other. And I have to try and stay the  
neutral party.  
  
One is my partner. She's everything to me. In Diana's  
absence, she's picked up the pieces of me and molded me  
into some semblance of the man I once was. In the  
wake of my banishment from the Bureau mainstream, as I  
questioned myself and my beliefs more everyday, Dana  
Scully stood by me and up to me. She's still here,   
self-appointed guardian of my sanity and my life.  
  
The other is my...I don't know what she is. My ex-wife?  
That sounds like something from a cheap soap opera.   
Diana Fowley could hurt me as much as she could heal me.  
She and I think alike, and she believes in the unbelievable  
even more fiercely than I do. She has a conviction I only  
hope I have. She had been gone until a couple of days ago,   
and I had to introduce her to Scully, feeling the whole time  
like a dirty, cheating husband.  
  
I never gave my heart to Scully, and Diana knows it. She   
knows it because she still holds it.  
  
And now, she's holding my hand.  
  
I feel content flooding my heart and I *know* Dad never felt  
this. I look into Diana's eyes and I see my mother looking  
out - I don't dwell on the Freudian in that - but its my   
mother inflamed and alive, not the cold New England WASP she  
has become. My mother in another life, perhaps.  
  
How could I have considered leaving this woman for a lifetime?  
She knows me, knows how to comfort me and knows how to help   
lead the cause even in my absence. I can't compare Scully  
to her because it isn't fair to either one - like apples and  
oranges - but damn, the light in her eyes is distracting.  
  
I could kiss Diana, couldn't I? She'd let me, let me lean in  
and subtly welcome her home. The sparkle and fire in her eyes  
from so long ago is still there, and she responds to me like I  
knew she would.  
  
Her eyes widen a little, and the flash of color that might   
have passed for a glint of light is suspiciously not. What  
did Diana see over my shoulder?  
  
I turn around, not too late to hear the click of heels but  
too late to see their owner.   
  
I turn around, and Diana has locked herself away, her eyes  
a gleaming and shiny brown instead of a world of possibilities.  
What - who - did she see there? She still holds my hand, and  
I imagine she's gripping it tighter, like a jealous wife who's  
glimpsed the mistress.  
  
Jealous wife who's glimpsed.....  
  
Was it Scully in the hall? My eyes search Diana's face for the  
answer to this silent question. The tint of green slowly drowning  
the shine in her brown eyes tells me so much. I squeeze her hand,  
try to tell her without telling her that Scully's a friend, nothing  
more, she's been here in your place Diana but she could never *take*  
your place, Diana please please believe me.....  
  
My phone rings and I'm annoyed. The gentle press of Diana's fingers  
in mine gives me permission, and I look in her eyes again to see the  
green gone and the gleam returned. She's mine again, dedicated, and  
the occasional jealous glare won't change that. She's telling me I   
can answer the phone because she's still holding my hand, and she  
won't let go anytime soon.  
  
My God, what a woman.  
  
"Mulder." I answer my phone with domesticity flooding my voice. I'm  
tamed, calm because the woman who loves me and the only truth I can   
ever really see have enveloped me.   
  
"Mulder, its me."   
  
Scully.  
  
We speak, its brief as it always is. But I can hear the hurt in her  
voice. It *was* her in the hall, and she saw me with Diana, holding  
hands.  
  
Scully and I have never held hands. Not like this.  
  
I never wanted to hurt Scully. I've done everything I can to protect  
her, including keeping Diana in my past where Scully wouldn't have to  
deal with her. It was foolish, perhaps, because you don't have a   
partner for five years who doesn't learn everything about you. Hell,   
she likes to straighten my ties in the morning and I know to buy her   
sandwiches minus the mayo and onions. Scully will fill out paperwork   
and once or twice signed my name, knowing my signature so well that   
she can imitate it flawlessly. She knows I like classic rock on road   
trips and I know she favors quiet ballads during weekends at home. I   
know she visits Jack Willis' grave on their birthday, then goes home  
for Chianti and a bubble bath; she knows I sometimes sit all night  
at my father's grave and cry that I've failed him, and she knows I'll  
end up at her doorstep afterwards, shivering and wanting coffee and  
some sleep.  
  
Scully and I are two halves of the same sphere. She's not Diana,   
though, and she is having to learn that now.  
  
When we hang up, Diana is still holding my hand. She's staring  
at them, our interlocked fingers telling a story. I'm overcome  
with the need to leave, to see Scully and smell her perfume and  
stand close to her. Just *be* with her. But I can't hurt them  
both.  
  
So I tell Diana its time we got to the Hoover Building, and I   
don't tell her that I want her gone. I don't. She makes me  
happy, she lights up my face and she awakens the drive for the  
quest that sometimes hides on a black leather couch, next to  
Scully, watching a creepy old movie.  
  
Scully is my friend. She will understand.  
  
And as we leave, I think that maybe this is why my father was  
a bitter old man and why my mother is detached and frigid. Maybe  
in part, he had to hurt her or someone else for his cause, for  
his truth. Maybe he never could reconcile two truths.  
  
Maybe I won't be able to, either.  
  
  
  
-----------  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Inspired, like I said, by 'Trust No 1',  
though it takes place in 'The End'. Also inspired in a  
kind of skewed way by Deslea's 'A Woman's Role'. I hadn't  
considered Mulder and Diana in a serious way before, but  
after that I had no choice. Deslea has a way of dragging  
a girl kicking and screaming into the utopia of Other Women  
:-)  
  
To Michael, for the title, for sunrise/sunset and for always   
fueling my words with your wit.   
I am the right shoe and you are the left.  
  
To the Wives in the Harem, for bringing back to life for me  
the will to write. What have you done to me!?  
  
Apologies if you'd like to argue that Mulder and Scully held  
hands at some point prior to 'The End', but I'm pretty positive  
that even if they did, it wasn't like this. In 'Pusher', it   
was grasping for each other. YMMV. 


End file.
